The Passing of Boromir
by mortaldarkness
Summary: I believe that is where he is, now. Far away across the Sea where the stars always shine above in the sky. Dwelling in the Great Halls of all our Fathers come to pass, peace and joy and happiness finding him at last.


**Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, and Peter Jackson of New Line Cinema. Not me, never me.**

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The Passing of Boromir

It is hard to live in the shadow of one so much greater than you. Someone who will always be thought of in glory, and honor, where I will be nothing in the eyes of most. I am not great, not worthy of honor and renown. But you grow used to the lack of attention, of love. You find that, although you long for more, you are content for you know in your heart you will never be as great as he who came before.

I am speaking, of course, of my brother, Boromir of Gondor. I do not doubt that you have heard of him. Almost all of Arda, what we call Middle-earth, has.

Lords far to the South and the West have heard of his demise from Greatness. They will still speak of it, of him, even after all these years when his life is fading even from my memory, becoming something of a vague dream. It is somewhat of a legend, the tale of the elven-boat carrying him away, my brother, out into the sea under the stars.

That's why I'm telling this to you now, at night under the stars. When all is quiet, and even the White City has seemed to succumbed to sleep and the gaurds grow weary on their feet as they stand at their posts. For not elvish stories best told under elvish stars?

But I suppose that this isn't really an elvish tale, and it has been much embellished over the long years. But I tell you in all truth of what I know, what I have heard spoken from the very lips of King Elessar himself.

I do not know, rightly, where to begin for the tale—or the small part that I am telling you, tonight—has many beginnings. I could go back to ages before this, to tell you of the first Dark Lord, Morgoth, and of Sauron, Lord of the Rings, the second Dark Lord and also, the last. I could tell you of the Last Alliance, and of the Battle on the slopes of Mt. Doom. Of Isildur and all who came after.

But I shall not, for that is all of it a tale in its own right. A tale that I am certain you have heard before.

I will start, instead, at Imladris; I know naught of Boromir's journey there, save that he stayed in Rohan for a time.

He journeyed to Imlasdris to tell of his dream. Or, rather, our dream for I had it also, many times. The dream spoke of Isildur and his Bane, and Narsil, the broken blade dwelling in Imladris.

He spoke of his dream before the Council of Elrond Half-elven. I do not recall what he was told of its meaning, nor of what he learned. My memory is beginning to fade.

But his journey did not end there, and he did not return home. He joined a Fellowship, pledging an oath to the Ringbearer to protect him with his life.

I'm sure you have heard this tale also. Of Frodo of the Nine Fingers, bearer of the Ring of Power. You have heard of the Fellowship of the Ring, and their quest to destroy Sauron. And you have heard of their success, how Sauron fell and the world became, more or less, what it once was long, long ago. And you have heard how Frodo, Ringbearer, and Gandalf the White passed over the sea upon an elven-ship bound for Valinor, never to return. You have heard this tale many times, have you not?

I cannot, I fear, tell you of all this. That is not my tale, though I played a small part. For Frodo and Samwise Gamgee, his gardener and faithful servant stayed a time in Osgiliath.

But I have carried on too long of things that are not important. You wished to hear a story, one that is told under elvish stars. I must tell it quick, for already the night is fading.

The Fellowship came to Amon Hen, where Frodo went off alone to decide the route they would take next. Boromir had followed him, his mind and thought bent upon the Ring. He was not so strong, for not even the Greatest of the Wise can withstand the call of the Ring.

He came to Frodo, and tried to talk him into bringing the Ring to Gondor, to Minas Tirith. But Frodo realized that it was not Boromir speaking to him, but the Ring and his own lust for it. He refused Boromir.

Boromir tried to take the Ring from him, then. Not by speech, but force. He lunged at Frodo, who put the Ring on after a moment of struggle and disappeared from sight. Only then did my brother realize what he had done, what he'd become. He was afraid, and called out to Frodo, who was already so far away. That was where Boromir's part in Frodo's journey ended, and what came after for him I cannot tell.

Boromir returned to Aragorn, then, who by that time already learned of what had come to pass between him and the _perian_.

The others, including my brother, went to search for Frodo.

A battle followed, in which Boromir my brother saved to of his companions, Merry and Pippin as much as he could. He was out numbered, and in so doing, he gave up his own life.

Aragorn, the King, told me once how he looked, Boromir of Gondor when he found him. He rested against a tree, eyes closed, looking all the while asleep. Aragorn though that he had already passed. But Boromir had one more task to complete before he died. He told Aragorn that the Halflings were taken.

It is well known that he was placed in an elven-boat and carried over Rauros' falls. But it is also said that he was carried down through Osgiliath and bourn away as far as the Western Stars.

I believe that is where he is, now. Far away across the Sea where the stars always shine above in the sky. Dwelling in the Great Halls of all our Fathers come to pass, peace and joy and happiness finding him at last.

He was given to the Sea, and he may still rest in the elven-boat, in body only, his spirit in halls of marble. Floating upon the waters at night under the stars forevermore.

"_He floated by them, and slowly his boat departed, waning to a dark spot against the golden light; and then suddenly it vanished. Rauros roared on unchanging. The River had taken Boromir son of Denethor, and he was not seen again in Minas Tirith, standing as he used to stand upon the White Tower in the morning. But in Gondor in after-days it long was said that the elven-boat rode the falls and the foaming pool, and bore him down through Osgiliath, and past the many mouths of Anduin, out into the Great Sea at night under the stars."_


End file.
